One evening when Andy Donovan went to dinner at his Second Avenue boarding-house, Mrs. Scott introduced him to a new boarder
, a young lady, Miss Conway. Miss Conway was small and unobtrusive
. She wore a plain
, snuffy-brown dress, and bestowed her interest
, which seemed languid
, upon her plate
. She lifted her diffident
eyelids and shot one perspicuous
, judicial glance
at Mr. Donovan, politely murmured his name, and returned to her mutton
. Mr. Donovan bowed with the grace
and beaming smile that were rapidly winning for him social
, business and political advancement
, and erased the snuffy-brown one from the tablets of his consideration
Two weeks later Andy was sitting on the front steps enjoying his cigar. There was a soft rustle
behind and above him, and Andy turned his head—and had his head turned.
Just coming out the door was Miss Conway. She wore a night-black dress of crêpe de—crêpe de—oh, this thin
black goods. Her hat was black, and from it drooped and fluttered an ebon veil
as a spider's web. She stood on the top step and drew on black silk
gloves. Not a speck of white or a spot of color about her dress anywhere. Her rich golden hair was drawn, with scarcely
, into a shining, smooth
knot low on her neck. Her face was plain
rather than pretty, but it was now illuminated and made almost beautiful by her large gray eyes that gazed above the houses across the street into the sky with an expression
of the most appealing
sadness and melancholy
Gather the idea, girls—all black, you know, with the preference
for crêpe de—oh, crêpe de Chine—that's it. All black, and that sad, faraway look, and the hair shining under the black veil
(you have to be a blonde, of course), and try to look as if, although your young life had been blighted just as it was about to give a hop-skip-and-a-jump over the threshold
of life, a walk in the park might
do you good, and be sure to happen out the door at the right moment
, and—oh, it'll fetch
'em every time. But it's fierce
, now, how cynical
I am, ain't it?—to talk about mourning
costumes this way.
Mr. Donovan suddenly
reinscribed Miss Conway upon the tablets of his consideration
. He threw away the remaining
inch-and-a-quarter of his cigar that would have been good for eight minutes yet, and quickly shifted his center
to his low cut patent
It's a fine, clear evening, Miss Conway," he said; and if the Weather Bureau could have heard the confident emphasis
of his tones it would have hoisted the square white signal
, and nailed it to the mast.
To them that has the heart
it, it is, Mr. Donovan," said Miss Conway, with a sigh
I hope none of your relatives—I hope you haven't sustained
a loss?" ventured Mr. Donovan.
Death has claimed," said Miss Conway, hesitating—"not a relative
, but one who—but I will not intrude
upon you, Mr. Donovan.
Intrude?" protested Mr. Donovan. "Why, say, Miss Conway, I'd be delighted
, that is, I'd be sorry—I mean
I'm sure nobody could sympathize
with you truer than I would.
Miss Conway smiled a little smile. And oh, it was sadder than her expression
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep
, and they give you the laugh,'" she quoted. "I have learned
that, Mr. Donovan. I have no friends or acquaintances in this city. But you have been kind to me. I appreciate
He had passed her the pepper twice at the table
It's tough to be alone in New York—that's a cinch," said Mr. Donovan. "But, say—whenever this little old town does loosen
up and get friendly it goes the limit
. Say you took a little stroll
in the park, Miss Conway—don't you think it might chase
away some of your mullygrubs? And if you'd allow
Thanks, Mr. Donovan. I'd be pleased to accept
of your escort
if you think the company of one whose heart
is filled with gloom
could be anyways agreeable
Through the open gates of the iron-railed, old, downtown park, where the elect
once took the air, they strolled, and found a quiet bench.
There is this difference
between the grief
of youth and that of old age: youth's burden
is lightened by as much of it as another shares; old age may give and give, but the sorrow
remains the same.
He was my fiancé," confided Miss Conway, at the end of an hour. "We were going to be married next spring. I don't want you to think that I am stringing you, Mr. Donovan, but he was a real Count. He had an estate
and a castle in Italy. Count Fernando Mazzini was his name. I never saw the beat of him for elegance
. Papa objected, of course, and once we eloped, but papa overtook us, and took us back. I thought
sure papa and Fernando would fight a duel
. Papa has a livery
business—in P'kipsee, you know.
Finally, papa came 'round, all right
, and said we might
be married next spring. Fernando showed him proofs of his title
, and then went over to Italy to get the castle fixed up for us. Papa's very proud
, and when Fernando wanted to give me several
thousand dollars for my trousseau
he called him down something awful. He wouldn't even let me take a ring or any presents from him. And when Fernando sailed I came to the city and got a position as cashier
in a candy store
Three days ago I got a letter from Italy, forwarded from P'kipsee, saying that Fernando had been killed in a gondola accident
That is why I am in mourning
. My heart
, Mr. Donovan, will remain forever
in his grave
. I guess I am poor company, Mr. Donovan, but I cannot take any interest
in no one. I should not care to keep you from gayety and your friends who can smile and entertain
you. Perhaps you would prefer
to walk back to the house?
Now, girls, if you want to observe
a young man hustle
out after a pick and shovel, just tell him that your heart
is in some other fellow's grave
. Young men are grave
-robbers by nature
. Ask any widow
. Something must be done to restore
that missing organ
to weeping angels in crêpe de Chine. Dead men certainly
get the worst of it from all sides.
I'm awfully sorry," said Mr. Donovan, gently. "No, we won't walk back to the house just yet. And don't say you haven't no friends in this city, Miss Conway. I'm awful sorry, and I want you to believe I'm your friend, and that I'm awful sorry.
I've got his picture here in my locket
," said Miss Conway, after wiping her eyes with her handkerchief
. "I never showed it to anybody; but I will to you, Mr. Donovan, because I believe you to be a true friend.
I have a larger one, framed, in my room," said Miss Conway. "When we return I will show you that. They are all I have to remind
me of Fernando. But he ever will be present in my heart
, that's a sure thing.
Before they parted in the hall that evening she ran upstairs and brought down the framed photograph
wrapped lovingly in a white silk
scarf. Mr. Donovan surveyed it with inscrutable
"He gave me this the night he left for Italy," said Miss Conway. "I had the one for the locket
made from this."
A fine-looking man," said Mr. Donovan, heartily. "How would it suit
you, Miss Conway, to give me the pleasure of your company to Coney next Sunday afternoon?
A month later they announced their engagement
to Mrs. Scott and the other boarders. Miss Conway continued to wear black.
A week after the announcement
the two sat on the same bench in the downtown park, while the fluttering leaves of the trees made a dim
kinetoscopic picture of them in the moonlight. But Donovan had worn a look of abstracted gloom
all day. He was so silent to-night that love's lips could not keep back any longer the questions that love's heart
"I know better. Can't I tell? You never acted this way before. What is it?
It's nothing much, Maggie.
Yes it is; and I want to know. I'll bet
it's some other girl you are thinking about. All right
. Why don't you go get her if you want her? Take your arm away, if you please.
I'll tell you then," said Andy, wisely, "but I guess you won't understand
it exactly. You've heard of Mike Sullivan, haven't you? 'Big Mike' Sullivan, everybody calls him.
No, I haven't," said Maggie. "And I don't want to, if he makes you act like this. Who is he?
He's the biggest man in New York," said Andy, almost reverently. "He can about do anything he wants to with Tammany or any other old thing in the political
line. He's a mile high and as broad
as East River. You say anything against Big Mike, and you'll have a million men on your collarbone in about two seconds. Why, he made a visit over to the old country awhile back, and the kings took to their holes like rabbits.
Well, Big Mike's a friend of mine
. I ain't more than deuce-high in the district
as far as influence
goes, but Mike's as good a friend to a little man, or a poor man as he is to a big one. I met him to-day on the Bowery, and what do you think he does? Comes up and shakes hands. 'Andy,' says he, 'I've been keeping cases on you. You've been putting in some good licks over on your side of the street, and I'm proud
of you. What'll you take to drink?" He takes a cigar, and I take a highball. I told him I was going to get married in two weeks. 'Andy,' says he, 'send me an invitation
, so I'll keep in mind
of it, and I'll come to the wedding.' That's what Big Mike says to me; and he always does what he says.
You don't understand
it, Maggie, but I'd have one of my hands cut off to have Big Mike Sullivan at our wedding. It would be the proudest day of my life. When he goes to a man's wedding, there's a guy
being married that's made for life. Now, that's why I'm maybe looking sore
Why don't you invite him, then, if he's so much to the mustard?" said Maggie, lightly.
There's a reason
why I can't," said Andy, sadly. "There's a reason
why he mustn't be there. Don't ask me what it is, for I can't tell you.
Oh, I don't care," said Maggie. "It's something about politics
, of course. But it's no reason
why you can't smile at me.
Maggie," said Andy, presently
, "do you think as much of me as you did of your—as you did of the Count Mazzini?
He waited a long time, but Maggie did not reply. And then, suddenly
she leaned against his shoulder and began to cry—to cry and shake with sobs, holding his arm tightly, and wetting the crêpe de Chine with tears.
There, there, there!" soothed Andy, putting aside
his own trouble. "And what is it, now?
Andy," sobbed Maggie. "I've lied to you, and you'll never marry me, or love me anymore. But I feel that I've got to tell. Andy, there never was so much as the little finger of a count. I never had a beau
in my life. But all the other girls had; and they talked about 'em; and that seemed to make the fellows like 'em more. And, Andy, I look swell
in black—you know I do. So I went out to a photograph store
and bought that picture, and had a little one made for my locket
, and made up all that story about the Count, and about his being killed, so I could wear black. And nobody can love a liar
, and you'll shake me, Andy, and I'll die for shame
. Oh, there never was anybody I liked but you—and that's all.
But instead of being pushed away, she found Andy's arm folding her closer. She looked up and saw his face cleared and smiling.
Could you—could you forgive me, Andy?
Sure," said Andy. "It's all right
about that. Back to the cemetery
for the Count. You've straightened everything out, Maggie. I was in hopes you would before the wedding-day. Bully girl!
Andy," said Maggie, with a somewhat shy
smile, after she had been thoroughly
assured of forgiveness
, "did you believe all that story about the Count?"
Well, not to any large extent
," said Andy, reaching for his cigar case, "because it's Big Mike Sullivan's picture you've got in that locket